RE: The Test Of Faith.
by Ben Myatt
Summary: Chapter 4: since no-one is reviewing (Gits.) I'm not gonna do a chapter summary. you'll have to read it and find out! R+R.
1. First hit, First down.

DISCLAIMER: Make a sentence from the following words: Resident Evil, Don't, Own, I.  
  
Radio 1, neither. That belongs to the BBC. You can listen to it on www.bbc.co.uk/radio1 or on 97-99 FM, if you're actually in Britain.  
  
AUTHORS NOTE: I haven't played code Veronica, or any of the other games after Nemesis, so I wont be including they're characters in this fic. Cos I wouldn't know what the hell I was talking about. Less so. I'm also going with the Claire A-Leon B Scenarios.  
  
I don't know how well this will work. Go with it, People…  
  
=============================================================  
  
Resident Evil: The test of Faith.  
  
=======================  
  
Chapter 1:  
  
First hit, first to fall.  
  
********  
  
(Somewhere in the Pennine mountains, Wales, the British Isles. January, 2003.)  
  
The SAS (special air service) Candidates marched through the light snowfall that lay on the mountain, their heavy packs (Burgens) slung across their backs. The SAS takes all of it's soldiers from Men already serving in regular army units, and to get into that elite fighting squad, you have to be in peak condition, both physically and mentally. The selection process involves forced marches across the black mountains of Wales, A gruelling exercise regime, escape and evasion training, and interrogation training. All in all, it isn't the most pleasant way to spend the months after Christmas. But it's what separates the sheep from the goats, and it's how you build the best Special Forces Regiment on the face of the earth.  
  
Looking around, Sergeant Tony Johnson reckoned he could see at least three men who would receive a warning by the end of the day. Those three men had their H & K G3 rifles held in a relaxed pose across their chests, instead of at the arms length the rules required.  
  
Johnson sighed, and pulled his notepad from his pocket, swiftly writing down the names of the three men. He remembered what it was like to do the selection process, but rules were rules. His own Bergen was back with the truck, and his G3 was slung over his shoulder, allowing him easy access to his many pockets.  
  
'How the hell did I get landed with this?' he asked himself for the twentieth time that morning.  
  
The answer was simple. He had been wounded in training, and the rest of his squadron had already left for the jungle by the time he had recovered. They were in deep cover, with no way for him to reach them, so he was posted onto the selection team instead. Youngest guy ever to do it. Only bloody 23.  
  
The next checkpoint was ahead. He unslung his rifle, and tabbed quickly to the head of the ragtag column.  
  
"Alright lads, rest break up ahead. 5 minutes."  
  
He could see the relief on some of the faces around him, resignation on others. They could see the trucks now, the big open backed vehicles waiting for them.  
  
Something pricked at Johnson's mind. And he looked at the trucks, puzzlement on his face.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
He snapped out of the reverie, and started forward again, trying to shake off the feeling of foreboding that ate at the edge of his instincts. Then he realised what was wrong.  
  
There was no steam rising from the trucks. The troopers who were with them always kept themselves warm by having a permanent brew going on their stoves, and in this chill air, the steam could be seen pretty far away. Subconsciously, Johnson brought his G3 up to his waist, and started forwards. He moved into the checkpoint perimeter, waiting for the challenge from one of the other troopers.  
  
It never came.  
  
He walked around the back of the truck, and glanced into the cargo section.  
  
What he saw made him spin away, and vomit onto the snow. The SAS candidates saw what was happening, and ran over too their troop leader. The five men glanced into the back of the truck, and then they too were retching. The stench of death came from the cargo hold, and Johnson, his throat dry and burning, forced himself to look back in.  
  
Three men lay inside the truck. Dead. They're bodies had been horribly mutilated, huge gouges torn through the flesh of their torsos. Their rifles lay nearby, dented. One of the men's heads was missing. Another had a huge hole through his chest. Johnson looked down, and saw something that only increased his puzzlement.  
  
An empty cartridge lay on the floor of the truck. He picked it up, and recognised it as one of the 7.62 rounds that the G3 rifles fired. Why would the men have been shooting?  
  
The other candidates finished their retching, and looked up on him. He reached into the truck, and pulled out a radio. Flicking the switch on the side, he spoke into the microphone.  
  
"Checkpoint three to base, anyone receiving, over?"  
  
No sound came back for a moment, then…  
  
"No! Stay back!"  
  
Gunfire.  
  
"Get back, you bastards!"  
  
More firing.  
  
"I said, get Ba-"  
  
The transmission cut off as suddenly as it started, and the six men stared at the radio in disbelief. Then they heard another sound over the static.  
  
A low hissing, an outlet of breath.  
  
The creature leapt from the roof of the truck, slashing out with razor sharp claws. One of the candidates span away, blood spurting from his severed jugular. The rest staggered back, their heavy Burgens pulling them down. One of the men managed to free himself, and started to run. The creature looked up, and out of it's mouth, a long tongue stabbed at the retreating man. The tongue slammed into the mans back, and drove through his chest with the force of a spear, sending him tumbling away into the snow, which was suddenly tinted red with his blood.  
  
Johnson had been knocked sideways during that first attack, but now raised himself out of the cold white carpet that blanketed the mountain. He could only watch as the Licker finished off the last three men. He got up on one knee, and raised his G3 to his shoulder, taking careful aim at the Licker's exposed cerebrum. His finger squeezed the trigger.  
  
The eyeless head jerked once as the Heavy 7.62 bullet slammed into it, spraying blood and grey matter over the snow. Johnson lowered his rifle, and ran to the second truck. Starting up the vehicle, he pressed his foot hard down on the accelerator, speeding as fast as he could back to Hereford, the town that lay in the valley beneath him.  
  
=============================================================  
  
(London.)  
  
********  
  
Leon S Kennedy awoke from the nightmare, his face bathed in a cold sweat. He glanced around in the dark, and groaned wearily.  
  
He could still see her face, the high, oriental cheekbones. The condescending smile, the dark, mysterious eyes.  
  
Ada. It was almost three years since the events in Raccoon city, and still he couldn't shake off the feeling that there must have been something more he could have done. Some way he could have saved her. He could still see the pain in her eyes as the Tyrant had slammed her into the electrical console. Still feel the gentle pressure of that single, tearful kiss.  
  
He raised himself up in the bed, and ran a hand across the stubble that covered his jaw. They had rented this house after they came here from Raccoon. Claire in search of her brother, Sherry coming with Claire, and Leon…?  
  
Why was he here?  
  
Why was he still fighting, trying to shut down the huge faceless corporation that had destroyed so many people?  
  
'Mom would have said that it's the Irishman in me.'  
  
He grinned at that thought. Remembering the woman who had raised him. The woman from whom he had inherited his shock of red hair. She had died several years ago, following Leon's father. They had had enough money left to him to give him the opportunity to never work again. But he had always wanted to be a cop.  
  
He glanced at the half-open curtains. Noted the light streaming through, and guessed that it was around nine AM.  
  
He pulled back the bedclothes, and stood, heading for the bathroom door on the opposite side of the room. He figured that Claire and Sherry were both still asleep, and that gave him a chance to have a hot shower for once. It was a nice house, but hot water was not one of its greatest commodities.  
  
Ten minutes later, he was dressed, and down in the kitchen. The kettle was singing merrily to itself, and he poured the coffee into a mug. Glancing out at the scenery, he could see London underneath them, sprawled away from Greenwich, their home of the moment. The town was shrouded in mist, which, combined with the snow, gave him the distinct impression of the romanticised London his Irish mother had always told him about. He could even see the Umbrella building. The corrupted heart of the city.  
  
"Nice view, huh?"  
  
He glanced round as Claire Redfield walked into the room, dressed in her usual red. She turned on the radio, and the radio 1 breakfast show came out of the speakers, Sara Cox's merry voice happily making fun of Mark Chapman, the sports presenter.  
  
Leon grinned slightly, and passed a mug of coffee to her. She smiled her thanks, and sat down at the table.  
  
"So, what are we doing today?"  
  
Leon sat opposite her, and shrugged.  
  
"Not much. There's nothing much we can do until Donnie makes contact tonight."  
  
She looked troubled by that.  
  
"Are you sure we can trust this guy?"  
  
"Hey, that's my cousin you're talking about."  
  
She grinned again.  
  
"I know. And I know that he's the only guy who can infiltrate Umbrella for us in the London site, but… I don't know…"  
  
"Your just still pissed cos he made a pass at you."  
  
She shot him a death glare, and got up, moving to the cupboard.  
  
"So, what ARE we gonna do for the rest of the day?"  
  
he shrugged again.  
  
"We haven't been sightseeing yet. Hell, we've been here for a week. Might as well have a little fun."  
  
Claire grinned at him over the cupboard door.  
  
"Works for me. One of us'll have to rouse Sherry though."  
  
Leon held up his hands.  
  
"I'm still healing from the bruises of last time."  
  
"Okay, Okay."  
  
Claire set the cereal on the table, and went to wake the fifteen-year-old girl. Leon's grin slipped from his face as she left the room. This was what he was fighting for. He had promised himself that he wasn't going to let anymore of his friends get hurt.  
  
Especially not Sherry.  
  
Especially not Claire.  
  
=============================================================  
  
(a/n)  
  
Yo all. This is my first attempt at a Resident evil Fic, and like I said, I haven't played any of the games after Nemesis, so you'll have to forgive my pathetic lack of knowledge in that area. Sara Cox is a real DJ on Radio one. And she is brilliant.  
  
This IS going to be a Leon/Claire. Live. With. It.  
  
Again though, that's mainly cos I don't know much about this Steve dude, and Ada got blown to living hell. (Pardon the pun.)  
  
R+R  
  
-Ben. 


	2. You can always trust family...

Chapter 2:  
  
You can always trust family…  
  
********  
  
Leon glanced round at his fellow patrons in the pub. O'Connell's was in the Irish quarter, and was one of those Irish pubs where the atmosphere was almost as good as the beer. He lifted the pint glass to his lips again, and allowed some of the dark liquid to spill into his mouth.  
  
He had spent the day sightseeing with Claire and Sherry, and now he was geared up for his meeting with Donnie Callaghan, his cousin and friend inside Umbrella headquarters, London.  
  
He wasn't in the least surprised that Donnie was late. It figured as part of the other mans style that he didn't really give a damn about appointments. Claire had declined to come with him. For some reason she didn't like Donnie, probably cos the guy had made a pass at her at their first meeting.  
  
"And it's the pensive face that you're wearing tonight, is it Leon?"  
  
The former RPD officer glanced round, and looked up at the smiling face of Donnie Callaghan.  
  
"Good to see you too. I suppose I'm buying."  
  
"Nice of you too offer. Guinness, pint of."  
  
Leon sighed, and gestured to the Barman. The drink arrived a few seconds later, and they moved over to a table in the corner.  
  
"What have you got for me, Donnie?"  
  
Leon didn't bother with subtlety; instead he chose to ask the question straight out.  
  
"Two things. First, have you heard the news today?"  
  
Leon shook his head.  
  
"Thought not. Most of the SAS base down at Hereford was slaughtered today. Zombies. Only a couple survived, and that was because they were up on the mountains. They got hit by a creature described as 'Having no skin, Big-ass claws, and a really big tongue.'"  
  
Leon cursed under his breath.  
  
"A Licker?"  
  
Callaghan nodded, and reached into his jacket pocket. Leon's hand instinctively fell down to the VP70 at his side, but relaxed as his cousin brought out a brown envelope.  
  
"Naturally, Umbrella Incorporated has declined to comment, but there are other complications. These are the floor plans of the main building, and the surrounding area. There's a building site across the way. What with the lay-offs, work on it has been discontinued indefinitely. The thought springs to mind that it could be used for surveillance."  
  
He grinned.  
  
"But only to REALLY suspicious minds."  
  
Donnie suddenly froze. He seemed to be staring at a point behind Leon's shoulder.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That man…"  
  
Donnie seemed to be trying to place something, and then realisation dawned on his face.  
  
"He works for the company. Come on."  
  
The Man whom Donnie had been scrutinising got up, and made for the door.  
  
"We can't let him get away. C'mon."  
  
They followed, and as they left the pub, the man broke into a run, sprinting down one of the side alleys. Leon and Donnie ran after him. As they got into the alley, Donnie yelled out.  
  
"Crais! Stop bloody running!"  
  
He didn't, and before Leon could stop him, Donnie had pulled a silenced Beretta from his Jacket pocket, and shot Crais in the back. Blood bloomed on the mans clothing, as they closed the distance. Donnie knelt by Crais, and checked for a pulse. He shook his head.  
  
"Jesus…"  
  
Leon breathed the words, and Donnie glanced up at him.  
  
"Get out of here. Now. We can't afford to be seen together again."  
  
Leon nodded mutely, and moved back to the end of the alley, walking swiftly away through the snow. Donnie Callaghan waited for a few minutes, and then tapped the dead man on the shoulder.  
  
"You can get up now."  
  
Crais raised himself up onto his elbows, and grinned at the Irishman.  
  
"You think he fell for it?"  
  
Donnie nodded, and the two men got up, and moved swiftly away.  
  
=============================================================  
  
"He did WHAT?"  
  
Claire spoke the words incredulously, and there was an unmistakable horror in her voice.  
  
"He shot him, right there."  
  
Leon had recounted the events of the earlier part of the evening, before coming home. Sherry sat, mute, her face stricken. The redheaded man reached inside of his Jacket, and pulled out the brown envelope. Opening it, he pulled out the contents, and spread them on the table. The blueprints of the umbrella building stared up at them, and Claire and Sherry crowded in beside him, looking over the maps, trying to glean as much information from them as possible. Sherry indicated a network of straight lines.  
  
"There are air vents all over the building…"  
  
Leon glanced across at her.  
  
"Unfortunately, there's also the slight problem that you're the only one who would be able to fit inside the damn things. I don't think any of us should run this one alone."  
  
Claire looked at him, her brow furrowed in thought.  
  
"I don't know. It's a back up plan, at least. I can't see any other ways to get us inside."  
  
"I don't like it. I reckon that they'd have thought of it to."  
  
"The plans don't say that."  
  
"And since when did plans show everything?"  
  
"Have you got a better idea?"  
  
Silence filled the room.  
  
'Goddammit. She's done it again. She always manages to talk me down. And the worst thing is, it always sounds logical.' Leon though. 'And I know I'm going to listen, because I always FUCKING do.'  
  
He glanced at his watch, and reached over to the little TV on the counter. It was time for the news. Claire looked annoyed.  
  
"Leon, shouldn't we be…"  
  
She trailed off as the news came on, and the pictures filled the small screen.  
  
=============================================================  
  
"This is ITN news. The time is ten o'clock. Our main story:  
  
Reports are coming in of a massacre at the Hereford base of Britain's Elite special forces, the SAS. What can only be described as 'Creatures' have been reported in the area, killing indiscriminately. This event does, of course, bring to mind the events that occurred three years ago in America. Our reporter on the scene is…"  
  
James Branford reached forward and flicked off the TV, then settled his large bulk back into his chair. This was bad stuff. Anything that could take out the SAS like that…  
  
A stone clattered against the window, and Branford glanced round angrily, lifting himself out of the chair slightly. His small house, just south of London, adjoined to a field. A field into which, nearly a week ago, a group of 'Travellers' had moved. They had come in their stinking caravans, and bringing their obnoxious, renegade children. Branford wouldn't have been surprised if the little sods had criminal records already. He was increasingly finding out that the Travellers had slung their rubbish bags over the low walls into his garden. He knew that there were rats around.  
  
'Like attracts.' He thought.  
  
He also thought of the baseball bat that he had by the door, and imagined the pleasure he would feel over using it on those little bastards.  
  
Another stone rattled against the glass, and this time the big man got up properly.  
  
"Alright, Cut it out!" he yelled.  
  
He swore he could hear mocking laughter as the kids scurried away. He glanced out of the peephole in the door, saw no one, and so made his way into the kitchen to make a coffee. Then he heard a scream. Glancing around, he chose to ignore it. Probably it was just one of the little shits messing around. Just as he got the milk out of the fridge, someone thumped on the door.  
  
Branford looked up in annoyance, and went back to what he was doing.  
  
*Thump*  
  
The big man sighed, and walked to the front door, picking up the baseball bat that lay next to it. He was speaking as he pulled the door open.  
  
"Alright, you little bastards…"  
  
There was no-one there, and he couldn't see beyond the small patch of light that came from the porch lamp. But the first thing that came to him was the Smell.  
  
Something smelt of death, and he tried to close his nostrils to the ghastly scent, thinking that the Traveller kids had put a dead cat or something somewhere.  
  
He stepped out onto the porch, his baseball bat down at his side, and glanced around. He couldn't locate the source of the smell.  
  
Something prickled at the back of his mind, cold, primal fear. He looked around again, but still his eyes couldn't penetrate the gloom of the night. Then came the shuffling sound, a scraping, barely audible.  
  
James Branford screamed as the first of the figures moved into the small circle of light. He turned around, to get back into his house, but the door had slid shut whilst he had been out. He fumbled for his keys, as a rotting, charred hand settled on his shoulder.  
  
=============================================================  
  
Less than three miles away, the city of London bustled with its nightlife, unaware of the tide of horror descending upon it.  
  
=============================================================  
  
(A/N)  
  
Ho-hum. Another chapter done. I'm actually getting into this, now that I've rediscovered the Joy of Res (see what I did there? Huh?).  
  
Ahem.  
  
One other point, in answer to my first reviewer, (Son Goharotto) about Johnson's reaction to the bodies in the first chapter, it wasn't so much that he had a weak constitution, it's just that he received a intense psychological shock, that had physical repercussions. SAS troopers are still human, after all, and soldiers wouldn't see as much gore as a police officer, due to the fact that bullet wounds are surprisingly neat, providing that he had actually seen any action anyway.  
  
Thanks for the review though! I don't mean it as an insult, just trying to explain my reasons.  
  
-Ben. 


	3. The Creeping Tide

CHAPTER 3:  
  
THE CREEPING TIDE.  
  
********  
  
Leon wasn't even aware that he had fallen asleep. The first inclination he had was when he saw her.  
  
She was wearing the same clothes she had been when he had first met her, the same clothes from when…  
  
From when the T-103 had slammed her bodily into a computer console, sending electricity running through her body, breaking bones. Leon had been able to feel it when he had held her. He had known how badly she had been hurt. Had known that the life was draining out of her.  
  
That was the moment he knew she was dreaming, when he had seen her standing there, and he had been so overjoyed when he had seen that she was alive, she wasn't hurt she…  
  
And then she had turned around. And her face had been full of tears.  
  
He had run to her then, to ask her why she was crying, to comfort her. And then had come the gunshot, ringing in his ears like the bells of hell itself. Then she had fallen to the floor, blood blooming on her chest like a cruel flower. And he had caught her as she fell, holding her, his eyes closed.  
  
And when he had opened them, the face had changed, and he had been holding Claire Redfield in his arms, lifeless, gone. And he never quite knew who the figure in the shadows was.  
  
=============================================================  
  
He always awoke in a panic from that dream, and he always had the urge to check across the hallway, to see if Claire was alright, to let himself know that she was still safe.  
  
But he always ignored it, and he always lay there in bed, waiting for his pulse to slow.  
  
And always, he wondered who that figure in the shadows was.  
  
But it was morning, and he decided to get up, and head downstairs. Doing the usual helped squash the dream back down, lock it away in his heart.  
  
He had failed once, he wouldn't fail again.  
  
As he turned the coffee machine on, he sat down at the table again, leafing through the files and diagrams, until he found the one he wanted.  
  
It was a standard employee card, but there was nothing standard about the face on the front.  
  
Martin Deveraux, head of Umbrella, London station. To all intents and purposes, he looked like a normal man.  
  
Except for his eyes.  
  
Even from the photo, Leon could see it. Those eyes contained a calculating glaze, that didn't allow you to see beyond them. Leon knew that look from other places. Other times.  
  
Chief Irons had had that look, and guess what he had been up to.  
  
There was a knock at the door, and Leon looked up, startled. He went to answer, and opened it to find a man in a suit standing there.  
  
"Mr Leon Kennedy?"  
  
Leon nodded.  
  
"Inspector Wallace, sir. May I come in?"  
  
Leon stood aside, and allowed the police officer to enter. He followed him through to the kitchen, and sat down.  
  
"How can I help you, inspector?"  
  
Leon cut to the chase, not allowing Wallace time to speak. The Englishman nodded approval.  
  
"We would like you to come and meet a man. His name is Tony Johnson.  
  
"Who is he?"  
  
"He's the only man to have survived the massacre at the SAS base in Hereford."  
  
Leon's forehead creased, and he grabbed a file that lay on the table, the same file that he had collected while he was in Raccoon city.  
  
"I'll need to leave a note for the others."  
  
"That's fine sir. I must ask you to hurry though."  
  
Leon nodded, scrawled a quick not on a piece of notepaper, and followed the policeman out.  
  
=============================================================  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you?"  
  
Tony Johnson strode around the room, angry, depressed, and ready to kick someone's head in if he got half a chance. The Umbrella Inc Lawyer who sat at the desk watched him impassively.  
  
"Mr Johnson, we aren't disputing whether you told the truth or not…"  
  
"Yes, you bloody well are!"  
  
Johnson spun around, and placed his hands on the desk.  
  
"What exactly is it you want from me?"  
  
"Lets put it this way. Your army career is over, and if you make any inflammatory statements against Umbrella incorporated, you won't be able to start any other jobs."  
  
Johnson's eyes narrowed dangerously.  
  
"How do you know my army career is over?"  
  
The Lawyer just smiled. Johnson spoke again. Quietly this time.  
  
"Get out. Now."  
  
"We're not finished…"  
  
The Lawyer left the room under a minute later, nursing a bleeding nose. In the corridor, he passed by Leon and Wallace, who gave him a glance, and walked into the room where Johnson was packing his belongings. Wallace was the first to speak.  
  
"Going somewhere?"  
  
"I'm not staying around here, with those vultures. Who are you?"  
  
Wallace pulled out his ID, and showed it to the sergeant. The SAS man gave it a cursory glance, nodded, and looked at Leon.  
  
"And you?"  
  
"Leon Kennedy."  
  
For the first time, Johnson looked as if this had had some effect on him. He looked impressed.  
  
"The Raccoon city guy?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"The only cop to make it out?"  
  
"Yeah…"  
  
"The guy the Umbrella Lawyers EXPRESSLY told me not to speak to?"  
  
"Um…"  
  
Leon stopped speaking. Johnson Laughed.  
  
"Don't worry, mate. After the mouthing-off that last one just went through I can only say one thing."  
  
"And that is?" Wallace asked.  
  
"Bollocks to the lot of them. What can I do for you?"  
  
Wallace glanced at Leon. The younger man pulled a picture out of his pocket. It showed the Raccoon city file photo of the first encounter with a licker.  
  
"Is this the creature you fought on the mountains."  
  
Johnson glanced at the picture, and nodded.  
  
"Yeah, that's the bastard. What about it?"  
  
Leon sat on the edge of the desk, and took a moment to gather his thoughts. Finally, he looked up at the two men.  
  
"I'm in town, investigating the activities of Umbrella incorporated. Basically, I'm trying to prevent what happened in Raccoon happening here. Unfortunately, it seems it's already started."  
  
He looked directly at Wallace.  
  
"Have there been any other attacks?"  
  
The police inspector looked momentarily uncertain, then he nodded.  
  
"A man in an isolated house, a little south of here, was killed last night by a group of 'new age travellers'.  
  
Johnson nodded.  
  
"So? Their not exactly known for their great social skills."  
  
"The man had been bitten to death. We identified him by his identification card in his wallet."  
  
The SAS man flinched.  
  
"Ouch."  
  
Leon looked at them again.  
  
"Can I have your word on it that this conversation doesn't leave the room?"  
  
Both men nodded.  
  
"I've got an inside source in Umbrella. From what I can tell, their boss in London, Martin Deveraux, has started conducting experiments with the G- Virus."  
  
He looked at Johnson.  
  
"Have you got a place to stay?"  
  
The SAS man shook his head.  
  
"You can stay with us. We're renting a little place in Greenwich."  
  
"Us?"  
  
=============================================================  
  
"Tony Johnson, Claire Redfield."  
  
The SAS man ditched his Bergen carefully on the floor, and shook Claire's hand. The young woman gave Leon a look. He definitely didn't like that look. he carried on regardless.  
  
"And this is Sherry Birkin."  
  
Johnson shook hands with the younger girl, and glanced across at the other two. He could see that there was a lot of chemistry there. But in what direction, he didn't hazard a guess at.  
  
"Leon, can I speak to you, in the Kitchen. Privately."  
  
Claire said the words calmly enough, but Sherry and Johnson glanced at each other. Leon spoke with equal calm.  
  
"Sherry, can you show Mr Johnson where to stash his gear?"  
  
The blonde girl nodded, and Johnson followed her up the stairs.  
  
"Hey, did I do something wrong here?" the SAS man asked.  
  
Sherry shook her head, and shot him a quick grin.  
  
"No. Claire's just naturally suspicious of just about everyone. You should see her when someone asks me out on date."  
  
"Is she your mum?"  
  
Again, sherry shook her head.  
  
"No. But her and Leon are the closest thing I have to family. As far as I know, we were the only ones to get out of Raccoon city alive."  
  
"What about your family?"  
  
She smiled, but it was a fixed smile, locked in place to cover up her feelings.  
  
"The guest rooms here. You can put your stuff wherever you feel like."  
  
She left him alone, and he sighed.  
  
"Nice one, mate. Really well done."  
  
He dropped the Bergen onto the floor, and sat down on the bed.  
  
=============================================================  
  
"He's a complete stranger!"  
  
"Claire, he's an okay guy."  
  
"You've known him for what, three hours?"  
  
Leon sighed.  
  
"Look, I'm sorry I didn't ask you first…"  
  
"It's not about that Leon. I thought we were supposed to be working together?"  
  
"We are!"  
  
"Well, why don't you ask me for some input occasionally, huh?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You've been closing us out, Leon. Me and Sherry have both noticed it."  
  
"I am not!"  
  
"You couldn't have saved her."  
  
Silence filled the room. A heavy, oppressive silence. Leon's eyes narrowed.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You know exactly what I mean. I know Ada meant a lot to you, but you can't go on beating yourself up over it!"  
  
"Claire, you don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"What, you were the only one to lose someone in Raccoon, is that it? Or is this about something else."  
  
Leon slammed his fist down onto the table.  
  
"I know I could have saved her. If I had taken the shot at that Tyrant, I know I could have stopped it. I failed. I froze up, and I failed. And she died because of it."  
  
Claire stood, walked around the table, and knelt next to him.  
  
"Leon, I've known you for a long time, and I know that you did everything you could…"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"No. I was backed into a corner, and I just seized up. Ada died because I messed up. And you know what? I'm scared that it'll happen again. To someone even more important to me."  
  
He stood up.  
  
"I'm going out for a walk. I'll see you in a while."  
  
He was out of the door before she could stop him.  
  
=============================================================  
  
(A/N)  
  
Okay, crappy chapter, I know. Scene-setting in the extreme, and if Claire doesn't get that hint at the end, then I dont know how dumb she is.  
  
(Just kidding. I love 'er really.)  
  
Of course, the whole point of me setting it in England is that I have excuses to use British slang.  
  
Please direct all hate-mail to:  
  
Moose_of _doom@hotmail.com  
  
-Ben. 


	4. spiralling out of control.

CHAPTER 4:  
  
Spiralling out of control.  
  
********  
  
Leon didn't know how long he had walked, until he found himself outside the Greenwich observatory, maybe three miles from his starting position outside the house. He sat on the bench under the statue that stood outside the front entrance, and looked out over the city.  
  
Why was he still moping around? Ada was dead, he knew that. It had been three years, for god's sake!  
  
"Penny for your thoughts?"  
  
Leon jerked back to reality as the old man spoke. The man carried a broom, and wore the green overalls of a park attendant. There was a kindly grin on his face.  
  
"Last time I saw a man who looked like that, he was suffering from girl trouble. Did I hit the nail on the head?"  
  
Leon smiled.  
  
"Are you telepathic or something?"  
  
"Not usually. It makes my head hurt. Now, my young friend, what's wrong?"  
  
The young man shook his red-mopped head.  
  
"Not something you can help with."  
  
"A problem shared is a problem halved."  
  
A small, sad smile crept across Leon's features.  
  
"I've lost someone I cared about before. I'm not sure if I went to tell her how I feel…"  
  
"Because you don't know what the future holds for you?"  
  
Leon shook his head.  
  
"No-one knows what the future holds, my young friend. That's half the fun of the game, discovering how to play. If I were you, I'd tell her how you feel."  
  
The man started to walk away. Leon called after him.  
  
"Do you always offer advise to people?"  
  
"You'll get my bill in the post." The man laughed.  
  
He had gone no more than a hundred paces when he suddenly doubled up in pain. Leon rushed over, and grabbed hold of his shoulder.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"My… Chest. Feels like it's… burning."  
  
Leon started to guide him to a bench, when he slumped to the floor, and was still. The young man stepped backwards, and then knelt, checking for a pulse on the old mans neck. Nothing. He turned, and started to head for the phones, when he heard a groan behind him. Spinning, he saw something that he had been expecting since coming to England.  
  
The old man was on his feet, and he was stumbling towards Leon, not fast, but with the inexorable motion of one who no longer had full control over his body. His glazed, dead eyes seemed to bore into Leon's soul, accusingly.  
  
Leon's pistol was in his hand before he knew he had drawn. His right hand brought the weapon up, his left wrapping around the VP70's butt as he aimed quickly, firing on pure instinct and reaction alone. The bullet slammed high into the park-keepers forehead, and Leon's mind finally caught up with his body as the zombie's body fell to the ground, twitching spasmodically.  
  
Leon S. Kennedy, Racoon city police department, turned and ran for the gate, for the house that held everything dear to him.  
  
To take an old mans advice.  
  
=============================================================  
  
"Mr Johnson?"  
  
Claire knocked at Tony's door, and the SAS man looked up as she peeked around the doorframe.  
  
"Is there anything I can do to help you get squared away?"  
  
Johnson shook his head, and smiled at her.  
  
"No, thankyou for offering. And it's Tony, by the way."  
  
She smiled back, and came into the room anyway, leaning against the writing desk. Johnson spoke again, in an apologetic tone.  
  
"I'm sorry if I've caused any trouble."  
  
She waved away his apology.  
  
"No, it's not your fault. It's Leon. We've worked together for the past three years, and I'm still not entirely sure that he trusts me."  
  
She sighed.  
  
"Jeez, listen to me, I'm pouring my thoughts out to a total stranger."  
  
He laughed, and got up from the bed.  
  
"If you don't mind, Miss Redfield, I'll make a brew. Nothing like a cuppa to cheer you up."  
  
"It's Claire, Tony."  
  
It was her turn to laugh now, and she moved out of the way to allow him past. They went into the kitchen, and Johnson flicked the switch on the kettle, starting its heating process.  
  
"So, Tony, where are you from?"  
  
"I'm from around here, actually. Just over the river, central London."  
  
"Why have you decided to help us?"  
  
The smile faded from Johnson's face, and when he spoke, the was a quiet anger to his voice that wasn't directed at Claire, but which sent a chill up her spine nonetheless.  
  
"I saw eight men massacred on the hills of Wales. A single creature did it, and I was the only one that survived. Because I froze, five of those men died. I'm the last surviving solder of the SAS regiment, and I swore that I would track down the person responsible for those deaths, and look them in the eye, so I could know what those deaths stood for."  
  
"And when you catch up with him?"  
  
Johnson shrugged.  
  
"I don't know. I just want to see that he at least feels some remorse for what happened. If the Regiment taught me anything, it's that you have to know WHY you're obeying an order, not just to do it blindly."  
  
He turned to look at her.  
  
"Our motto is "Who dares, wins." I'm daring to challenge umbrella, because their gonna be tough to hurt in any way."  
  
Claire was silent, looking at him intensely, and he grinned sheepishly.  
  
"That didn't sound like I'd been working on it, did it?"  
  
"Oh no. Didn't sound scripted at all."  
  
The laughter was unforced, and they grinned at each other. Then came the sound of scratching at the window. Claire froze, and a look of fear, mingled with concentration passed over her face.  
  
"What?"  
  
Instead of answering, Claire drew her Browning. Johnson didn't look shocked.  
  
"Any other weapons in the house?"  
  
"Second door on the left, Get Sherry!"  
  
There wasn't time for further conversation as the window bulged inwards, and shattered as an arm forced it's way through.  
  
=============================================================  
  
"Sherry!"  
  
The young blonde girl heard the yell from the bottom of the stairs, and leapt away from the book she had been reading. She sprinted out onto the landing, and saw Johnson at the bottom of the stairs. She ran down towards him.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"We've got trouble."  
  
He turned into the weapons room, and pulled a berretta out of the cupboard. Checking the magazine, he tossed the pistol to her.  
  
"Go help Claire."  
  
She ran to the kitchen, and Johnson dug into the cabinet again, pulling out a SPAS-12 shotgun and an AK47, with extra ammo. Finishing up with two bow guns and a handful of grenades, and ran back to the kitchen, only to meet Claire and Sherry on the way out.  
  
"They're getting in! We can't hold them."  
  
He handed her the bowguns.  
  
"We can now."  
  
The three of them backed to the room at the end of the corridor, an internal storeroom, with no windows, and levelled their weapons at the end of the hall. The first zombie dragged itself into the long corridor, but still they didn't fire. The zombies shuffled closer, and Johnson dropped to one knee, sighting his rifle at the oncoming hoard. He fired, and the heavy 7.62 bullet slammed the lead zombie backwards. The rest were pushed back under its weight, and Sherry, lifting the shotgun from where Johnson had laid it, blasted at the next batch. The lead zombies head exploded in a blast of grey matter, and Sherry worked the action on the weapon. Claire fired her browning, making one of the creatures stagger. She kept firing, until the thing that had once been human dropped to the ground, shaking convulsively.  
  
Johnson fired over and over, until the firing pin clicked on empty. He started to reach for a fresh mag, as a zombie lurched at him, instead of pushing it away, he drove the gun forward slamming it's barrel into the zombies torso, the gun stuck there, and the creature kept coming. Johnson grabbed hold of it's clothing, the lapels of what appeared to be a faded suit, and when he could of shoved it backwards, instead he head butted it full in it's rotting face. The Zombie's jaw broke away, and it fell to the ground as the SAS man pulled the rifle out of its chest. He dived backwards, as Claire fired a volley from the Bowgun over his head, knocking more of the creatures back and to the ground.  
  
He got to his knees, and reached for a magazine.  
  
The Zombie lurched out of the shadows, Reaching for him. The magazine was still in his hand, and he was blocking Claire and Sherry from taking a clear shot.  
  
The creatures head popped open like an overripe melon, and the carcass fell to the floor.  
  
Leon S. Kennedy stepped from the end of the hall, as the casing from his VP70 fell to the floor. Claire felt the breath rush back into her body, and relief coursed through her, as he grinned at them.  
  
"I think it's time to get out of here, don't you?"  
  
She shrugged.  
  
"It was getting boring anyway."  
  
Leon went into the weapons room, picking up a second AK47. He tossed another magazine to Johnson, and turned for the garage door.  
  
"Come on. Lets get to somewhere we can defend."  
  
Claire grinned.  
  
"Just so long as it isn't a police station."  
  
=============================================================  
  
(A/N)  
  
Ahhh, finally the plot starts to actually get moving! It's gonna get severely action heavy from now on. That should be fun, shouldn't it?  
  
- Ben. 


End file.
